


Out Of Night

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Cock Worship, Community: rotg_kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:34:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fearling gypsy known as Pitch Black is in need of some money. A certain quiet comet cruiser pilot is willing to give him some... and much, much more, in exchange of some gardening, and a bit of light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Gypsies Tramps and Thieves kinkmeme AU. Link to the prompt is [HERE](http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=4214613#cmt4214613), and the OP has a [tumblr blog](http://nightmaregypsy.tumblr.com/) dedicated to the AU's background.

"Out. Your money's no good here."

Pitch was almost certain he'd misheard. The roaring laughter of the half-drunken patrons in the common area had somehow mangled the words, making a horrible truth out of a room rental. "I beg your pardon?" asked he, eyes flicking to the worn coins laying out on the countertop.

The innkeeper was a sweet-faced older gent, his ash blonde hair combed back from his face and bushy beard making him appear more akin to a saint than a business man. The 'keeper's thick hands rested on polished wood, the counter creaking as he leaned all of his stout weight forward. "You heard me fine, lad. We don't serve Fearlings in this town."

Rage knotted Pitch's throat, but he managed a tight smile as he wordlessly dug for another few coins in his side purse. He was tired, legs sore, and after being ousted from the street corner where he'd been dancing for change all the day, he wanted a good night's sleep. "Don't bother." The innkeeper brushed Pitch's payment into one meaty hand, then held it out for the Gypsy to take. "I wouldn't even rent a dirty stall in the stable to you for all the gold in the Lunanoff palace."

"But--"

"You'd best move along, lad. You seem a nice fellow, but I can't run a respectable establishment with a Fearling stinking up my beds."

It wasn't the first time he'd heard something like this, nor would it be the last. At least this man had the decency enough to return his money--there were some who would keep it just for the inconvenience of "dealing" with a Fearling! Eyes stinging, Pitch shoved his day's earnings back into his sidepurse. The old fool stared at him from across the counter, lips pursed in a deep frown that only faded when Pitch turned on his heel and escaped out to a rising dawn.

He always hated sunrises, but today even moreso. Exhausted as he was, the cheery rose and gentle yellow streaming over the horizon just seemed to mock him. Soon the sun would rise, and he would be struggling to find a place to sleep. Perhaps there was a bridge nearby, or some distasteful part of town with a condemned old house, a crumbling kirk--

"Watch it," he snarled, his misery disturbed by a small weight brushing against his side. While this village was of a more well-to-do populace, there were still beggar children out to plead for coins from anyone they could find. Even a Fearling was fair game.

But that weight came again, manifesting now as an insistent tugging on his sleeve. "I am in no mood."

At the third tug, Pitch jerked his arm back and whirled on the child--only to find that it was no child at all. A small man stood before him, wrapped in loose, silken fabric that costed more than someone like Pitch could earn in half a lifetime. He was a chubby thing, skin kissed with gold and eyes as softly brown as chocolate. His right leg looked oversized; Pitch squinted and realized that it was wrapped in a plaster cast that stretched from ankle to thigh. "What do you want?" Pitch said finally, too tired and too downtrodden to try and force charm.

The gent held up a bright golden coin, tiny fingers pinching it at the middle. "You need help," replied the little man, his voice as quiet as honeysuckle on a spring breeze, "I need help too."

\-------------------------------

The house was rather large; easily more than five rooms with two gardens. Pitch never understood while one single person would need so much space. You could easily fit a four-member Fearling gypsy family into a cart.

He glanced at the short little guy whom he was calling master for the time being. The concept didn't sit well with him but Pitch was willing to tolerate it for the greater good. It won't be longer than a month. Perhaps half. It depended on the security measures.

"You have a beautiful home," he told the short man - some sort of pilot, if he understood it correctly. "What exactly do you need me to do?" They ran into each other by chance on the marketplace. Pitch ventured to the city in hopes to earn some much-needed cash, despite how his kind was feared and despised everywhere under the sun. The guy was surprisingly quick to hire him though, which actually made Pitch wary, but he was willing to risk it. The short guy didn't seem dangerous.

Neither was he especially talkative.

His eyes were bright and his smile was easy, splitting his round face as he eased his hefty frame to the side. His chubby hand gripped an ornate sort of crutch, the leg on his opposite side done up in plaster from ankle to thigh. With his free hand, he gestured at one of the majestic archways, with smooth marble steps leading out to a lavish garden. Why, it looked larger than the house itself! The amount of green was astonishing, and at first he was confused--it looked healthy enough. All the plant life had to be indicative of loving care.

But the rare blossoms and delicate sprigs of green were choked by weeds and thorns. As far as his eye could see, every spot not marked with a fountain or stone path was overgrown. The tall grasses swayed in the humid wind, some of the leaves dipping into a dried-up pool.

His employer hobbled toward the steps. He seemed so determined to climb down by himself that Pitch was hesitant to offer his assistance. This strange man would certainly ask.

"Please be careful," he said quietly as he followed. He certainly didn't want his newfound boss kill himself - who would pay then? "I see now... Things got a little out of hand, apparently. It's nothing I can't handle though." He smiled a little - weeding was definitely better than shoveling dung, and a lot less dangerous than stealing.

"I trust there is a gardener's shack somewhere with the tools I'd need? I can find it myself, you don't need to exhaust yourself, milord." It was so odd, both the lack of verbal answers and having a superior. Gypsies had no power above them aside their beloved Saint Nyx.

The tiny man at his side shook his head. "Please, just call me Sandy."

He spoke as if it were an effort, the quality and timbre strained like he'd just finished crying. Sandy said nothing more. They didn't linger just out of the manor. Despite Pitch's soft objections, he was forced to follow this chubby man around the garden. Every now and again, his employer pushed a finger toward a dead tree or sick plant. Pitch wasn't certain what he was being directed to do, though he didn't have time to think of the possibilities before Sandy moved again.

After nearly ten minutes in the hot sun, they approached a split in the path. It circled a wide area, rejoining again on the opposite side before disappearing into the trees. "Voidflowers..!" Pitch could not contain his surprise.

They were stooped low, in a nest of dried brambles. The stalks were yellow, some a light brown where death had taken them; the scraggly leaves dangled toward the ground, weeping with neglect.

The gypsy stared at the small bush. He was not expected to come across this exact plant in a household like this. Voidflowers weren't just very rare, but not exactly legal - being one of the strongest medicinal herbs, their cultivation was strictly monitored, and coming across them in a private household was near impossible. Pitch walked closer as if in a dream, kneeling down and gently caressing the withering stalks. This could be better than money. Better than all the wealth the villa could hold. This was exactly what he needed.

Except, that the flowers should be in full bloom to be used.

And it's not that he was a gardener. His kind dwelled in darkness where most plants did not flourish. He only knew about voidflowers because they were herbs.

"I'm not sure how much I can do for it," he said, looking at his employer - Sandy, it felt even weirder to call him like that. "But I'll try my best."

That seemed to satisfy the tiny thing. He graced Pitch with another of those smiles, then reached into his soft-looking robes. When his hand emerged, it held five shining gold coins--his day's pay. This was more than he usually saw in a week!

They were warm and heavy when deposited into his palm. "Shack is there," Sandy murmured, nodding toward Pitch's shoulder. When he turned, he saw a subtle stone building between a grove of thin-trunked trees.

A small palm patted his side, and with that, his employer hobbled to the other side of the circular path, to haul himself onto a stone bench. "That's all I wanted to show you. Your rooms are ready if you'd like to rest."

Pitch mulled that over. "If it's alright. My people are up when the sun is not at full strength." He pulled his hood a little more over his face. "But I'll be working all night, from late afternoon to morning." After a respectful nod, he approached the shack though. The door was open, and he welcomed the cool shadow inside. The tools were new, but not very well used, a bit blunt; Pitch quickly located a hone and began sharpening the blades. His thoughts kept on circling around the flowers.

He knew they looked stunning when healthy; the petals soft and reminiscent of the starry sky, a deep dark blue speckled with tiny morsels of a crystalline secretion. They looked best in moonlight - maybe the sun wasn't doing any good for them. He risked a question, venturing out into the light again.

"Since when does the bush look like this...?" The sorry state could have had several causes - simple neglect, heat, water, any infection - and it was as much a good place to start in figuring out what to do as any.

Sandy's face changed. He looked up from where he sat, his injured leg propped up on the seat beside him, and at that question, his soft features dropped into a hazy sort of thoughtfulness. It was strange to see such a melancholy expression on such a child-like face, but there it was--right to his deep brown eyes, pain was etched in each little inch of him.

"It was.." he began, only to stop himself so he could steady his upper body with his cane. He suddenly wasn't looking at Pitch anymore. "..perhaps.. a few weeks ago."

His wide mouth tensed. "I don't know that they can be saved."

There was some fear in the air that Pitch could sense, barely a wisp; obviously the worry for the precious plants. Pitch tilted his head to the side a little. There was something else here... The flowers were important for the golden man, and not just because of their sheer value. Maybe they were a gift.

"If... If I can save it- I'd exchange my entire pay for a single flower." And if the answer was no and he did manage to bring the bush to bloom, he'd just take both, but despite their reputation, gypsies quite liked getting what they wanted legally.

Sandy didn't answer. He stared down at his small hands, eyes hooded by thick golden lashes, and kept quiet for a small eternity. Pitch shivered under his cloak. The wind picked up again, filling his senses with the sugary scent of starrose and juniper, the humid air threatening to smother him in a haze of sweet perfume.

"If you can save it, you are welcome to the largest blossom it grows." There was a smile around the soft voice, yet the words were thick with anything but mirth. "Consider it a bonus."

Pitch swallowed hard. "I will not disappoint you."


	2. Chapter 2

Even though he wore thick gloves, his hands were covered in tiny wounds. Some of the thorny vines were rather persistent. Pitch started with the harder tasks and by now got them out of the way. The rest was just weeding, a bit of adjusting, and... breathing life into the voidflowers.

It wasn’t going to be an easy task. He fashioned a shelter for them against the scorching sun and much to his delight, it did help a little bit. The precious plants were still withered though. Pitch spent the last of his waking hours sitting by them, praying to Saint Nyx and asking for guidance. The flowers stopped getting worse, but without some actual information about their care, he was bound to fail. Eventually, he asked permission to access the vast library, in hopes of finding something useful.

Lord Sanderson was living alone in the mansion save his cook and housekeeper Roberta. The Yeti lady loved her master to bits, she made his favorite meals every day, but Pitch already knew that her efforts were in vain - the comet cruiser pilot just smiled, thanked for her efforts and barely ate anything. Pitch suspected, it wasn’t just the broken leg hurting him.

Two nights passed, and Pitch crawled all over the shelves, leafing through one thick volume after another, but nothing, absolutely nothing was there to find. He was getting desperate, and as if the flowers have sensed that, they got only worse. Pitch was close to tears, but he thought of his mission and kept on searching stubbornly.

He rose that day fairly early, with the sun barely beginning to set; and he spied on his boss in the library while trying to manage a bush underneath a window. The golden pilot was picking through the contents of a large box, which seemed to contain letters, books and a collection of pictures.

Each document he lifted seemed to pain him more than his leg. He held a page up and regarded it with such melancholy that the garden itself seemed to shudder with sorrow. Then, he laid it down, only to follow with another and another..

It was completely dark outside by the time he finished. Pitch waited for his employer's serene mask to fade, for the misery in his eyes to finally spill over, but as Sanderson repacked the trinkets with that same grace, he realized that he was staring at a man in such mourning that he felt nothing at all.

When the lights went out in the study, Pitch was certain that it was the last time he'd see Sandy for the evening. An awkward gait interrupted him, however, the sound of a cane over stone pulling him out of his concentration. Sandy stood with a small tray in hand and a book tucked under his arm. The scent of herbal tea made his mouth water, even moreso when the lad offered a steaming cup to him. "Thank you," Pitch replied.

Sandy nodded, laying the tray to the side, then held out the book next.

"What is that-?" Pitch tilted his head to the side, puzzled. He had a lamp with which he placed on the bench. He settled down with the cup more out of respect than real need - he easily towered over Sandy, being nearly twice the pilot's height. He took the book and turned it curiously. The simple dark cover didn't give a hint about the contents.

It took a moment, but soon Sandy was seated at his side, legs sticking straight out due to his height. A small yellow ribbon poked out of the book. Sandy slid his finger over it, carefully flipping the cover open to a marked page. There was a beautiful drawing of voidflowers in bloom, as well as sketches of the plant in various stages of life. "..I didn't know he had this," the gentleman explained, "I thought it would help you."

On the next few pages were paragraph after paragraph of hand-written notes. Even after the first of those, Pitch's heart began to beat faster. The notes appeared to be a study of voidflowers, observations about their nature and how to care for them.

"It does look useful," He nodded finally, closing the book and carefully setting it down, trying to hide his excitement. He took a sip from the tea and the essence of the herbs filling the hot water calmed him almost immediately.

"I've noticed you don't talk much, and I am but a stranger... But sometimes, it helps," he said quietly. He normally didn't care much for others aside his own... but Sandy was a nice man, and his pain was so deep, Pitch could practically taste it in the air. He was no doctor, but he knew that an aching heart could kill a person.

Another of those lingering silences spread between them, the Fearling and the golden-skinned hero. Sandy held himself with grace and poise, staying completely still while the offer faded into the music of the garden. His short fingers were clasped together, cane propped against his lap--why, he'd look ever the picture of a statuesque cherub if not for the huge cast that kept his right leg straight!

A moth alighted in his hair, a dusky brown that stood out against the bright strands. Sandy made no move to brush it away. "I worry you." It was a question, but phrased in such a way that Pitch wondered if he'd merely imagined it.

The wide eyes slipped downcast, a meek smile painted on like it was made with spilled ink. "I do not have much to say anymore. I haven't a reason to speak for many months now."

"If you forgive me saying, you don't look like somebody who'd enjoy silence for so long." Pitch looked at the other straight. "If anything, my kind understands darkness. Pain, grief, doubt, sorrow. Yours must be fresh and I know that not much can be done about a wound only time can heal. But you mustn't forget that eventually, time will heal you. If you let it, that is."

Laughter bubbled out from the portly lad beside him, so loud and sudden that Pitch's entire body seized in surprise. "I've never understood why Fearlings are considered a scourge."

The mirth lit his face, soft cheeks flushing pink as starrose as he slapped a hand onto his functional knee. "You are not the monsters that so many claim you to be. I have found you to be a most pleasant companion!"

Pitch was fixed then with a doe-eyed gaze and a hand to the inside of his elbow--all so soft, so careful, as if he was some precious trinket to be lovingly hidden away with the letters and pictures. "I feel that there is nothing left for me," he went on, still in that same happy voice, "I have lost my place in the world."

“You also lost the ability to cry,” the Fearling pointed out. “And that’s worse. You always have a place in the world, just sometimes you don’t recognize it. And there is always something left. There’s always hope for everybody.”

Sandy's face trembled. It was just his eyes and brow at first, then the tremor dropped to his lips. "You're right," he concluded after some time, though it seemed to be with great reluctance, "I suppose I'm blinded to what remains for me, then."

"Don't feel bad about it though. Darkness can hide and blind both, and it's not a fault to be lost in it." Pitch looked up, giving the rising crescent moon a small smile. "One just have to remember that eventually, he needs to find a way out of the dark lest be swallowed by it, until all hope is truly lost." He carefully touched the small golden hand still resting on his arm. "I'm sure the stars aren't the only ones waiting for you to return to them one day, when you're ready."

His hand was so very tiny, the fingers soft and pudgy, but warmer than he would've thought possible. Sandy gripped his sleeve. "I.. don't want to see the stars again. I don't want to go back--everything was gone when I came home, I--"

Pitch heard his wavering voice, but Sandy covered his own mouth before he could continue. "I'm so sorry. Thank you for your kind words." He gave Pitch's arm a fond pat. "I didn't intend to take your focus from your work. Forgive me."

"Do come back if you feel like talking. I'm a good listener."

His employer eased himself to his feet, and as he grabbed his cane, Pitch could see the trembling in his hand. It was then he knew that he was staring at a man on the verge of breaking, holding back a hurricane of misery with just a tiny golden thread. Yet, he smiled as bright as the sun. "Yes.. You're a very good listener."

The gent eased his cane under his right arm. "Take care, Mr. Black."

Pitch stood, bowing his head respectfully. "Saint Nyx watch over your sleep. May it be deep and void of visions."

*

He spent the entire night reading.

Here and there, the handwriting got a bit hard to read, but Pitch had the patience for such things, especially if there was a great reward to obtain - and the mystery indeed unfolded on the pages. Whoever the diary belonged to have spent a considerable amount of time on figuring out voidflowers. There were precise instructions for their care, albeit they were surprisingly few. Pitch was stunned to learn that the flowers were able to strive in any condition, no matter how harsh until they received their special nutrition: positive emotions.

The Fearling reread that several times, believing he missed something. Pretty as they were, he would have sooner imagined that the flowers absorbed darkness and negativity, but the mysterious author was clear about it: the rare plant seemed to have a sort of simple awareness. It was tied to its owner, sensed its state and reacted accordingly.

Not a wonder Sandy's specimen was dying.

Thankfully, the flowers also accepted a secondary master, usually their caretaker and were able to feed on their emotions as well. Pitch was a bit wary of that first, but the diary assured him that there was no harm done: positivity was like sunlight and water to voidflowers; and the Sun doesn't dim shining upon the earth. Pitch eventually sat down and began to talk to the flowers. He relayed them tales of things he witnessed, love, adoration, camaraderie, and as his own spirits lifted, so did the precious plants. It made him happier, too, so it was a beautiful circle. Though their true owner, Lord Sanderson still needed to get back on his feet too.

Pitch had not seen his employer since their quiet conversation a few days before. He saw Roberta carrying trays of food up the stairs, and once saw her coming back down with untouched meals and a frustrated tinge to her odd ‘speech’. The lights hadn't come on in the east wing for some time, so he tried to convince himself that Sandy was just starting to sleep regularly again and merely moved about during the day.

"Perhaps I'll request for him to visit the gardens tomorrow," he explained to the voidflowers, busily tending to the weeds that knotted around the pathstones, "He'll be delighted to see how much better--"

Movement, slight as it was, caught his attention. It was like a sigh, or a twitch of a leaf as a grasshopper bounded deeper into the lush garden; he looked up as the largest of the voidflower stalks shriveled. The leaves trembled before curling tight, just like the death throes of a spider.

His golden eyes widened, the warm color fading to cold silver and he nearly grabbed his own throat because fear wound its spindly fingers around it and squeezed. For a few moments, he just stared, not understanding what was happening - but then it clicked. His head whipped around as he shot a frantic glance at the dark windows. Something happened to Lord Sanderson.

His long legs carried him swiftly, feet barely touching the ground. His mind conjured up the most horrifying images - what if the golden pilot decided to give into darkness? Even a shard of glass could do the trick...

He had no idea if the door was locked, and old habits steered him toward the balcony anyway; he climbed like an agile monkey, stumbled into the room through the open window and crouched for a moment, wrapping darkness around himself like a cloak - on second thought, there could have been an intruder around, aside him.

The room was massive, speaking of all the wealth a man could ever desire, yet it was furnished as if for a prisoner. Portraits had been pulled from the walls and were draped in white sheets, shelves, seats, lounge chairs, and tables shoved all to one corner. The bed looked mostly disassembled, just a simple frame holding up a plush mattress, the blankets tangled around a tiny form like tendrils from some bloodthirsty creature of the deep.

Sanderson was quiet as always. His serene face was drawn tight, though, lines over his forehead and down the sides of his mouth. He trembled before some unseen fear, his hands clenched into tiny fists, his feet jerking outward in quick, desperate little movements. Sweat covered his forehead. Golden locks clung to his cheeks, his nightclothes soaked through--in his dreams, he was fighting something horrible.

Pitch shook off the shadows and rushed to the bed. He was not about to touch the sleeper just yet - that might frighten him more. Instead he spoke, loud clear and calm, to break the nightmares' hold. "Sanderson! Wake up!"

His eyes fluttered open, but they were devoid of their usual clarity. Bloodshot and wild, they darted listlessly about the room, seemingly unable to fix upon anything solid. The lad drew himself up into a seating position, nearly cowering where the bed met the wall. Pitch could hear some semblance of speech, the sort of frantic mumblings of a man not quite awake.

"Snap out of it!" Pitch commanded sternly, reaching out, but still not touching. "Focus on my voice. It was a nightmare. You're safe now."

Gradually, the shaking slowed. Mind returned to the body, Saint Nyx driving the visions from Sandy's eyes so that they could see again. Pitch saw those soft little hands relax.

"Mr. Black?" Sandy croaked, voice thin and high.

"It's alright." He finally curled his cool fingers around the warm ones. Pitch leaned close, caressing the sweaty face with his other hand. "You had a nightmare. A dream, nothing more." His voice rippled like dark velvet. "I'm here. Everything is alright. It's over and you're safe." He brushed the messy hair back, as if Sandy had been a child. "Do you need anything?"

Sandy inhaled sharply, the noise near to a sob, and gripped Pitch's hand tightly. "I was falling--"

Sandy's eyes pinched shut. His mouth trembled as he hugged that hand to his chest, like it was the only thing keeping him from sinking. "Th-thank you. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

"I don't sleep at night," Pitch mentioned quietly and languidly slipped next to Sandy, minding both the cast on the short leg and his own boots, so they won't dirty the bedsheets. He curled his arms around the trembling shoulders and squeezed gently. "Your flowers sensed your distress. So try to calm down, please. Nightmares can't hurt us."

"I know." His employer's little body pressed right against his side. Nary a breath passed before Sandy's face was buried in his chest and his arms were wound about Pitch's waist. For all of his smiles and his laughter, he was surprisingly fragile. "I don't want your flowers to die before you have a chance to pick one--you need a blossom, right? Someone must be waiting for you."

"They are yours and they depend on you," Pitch whispered. "I need one, yes, more than anything... But it looks like I should be tending to something else than them." Honestly, he felt a little helpless. Caring for flowers was a lot easier than caring for people.

A tired little laugh escaped their awkward embrace. "I only meant to hire you for my garden, I swear."

Sandy looked up, smile crumbling. His warm eyes were welling up with tears, all the fear and pain manifesting between his blonde lashes.

"I can close my eyes if you want me to," the Fearling offered.

"No," Sandy shook his head, "I like them."

Licking his lips, the young master leaned forward. He stole the slightest kiss, mouth resting gently over Pitch's lower lip.

It was surprising enough to render him immobile for a while. It's not that Pitch was not used to kisses, he had plenty of practice, but... He didn't think the golden lad needed this. Then again, maybe not... He didn't respond other than relaxing his lips, letting Sandy press on or back away. His long hands rested on the damp shoulders lightly, providing comfort.

He went about it with the same polite grace in which he did everything, all lips and soft caresses, no tongue, no teeth, no demanding. Sandy was gentle with him.

Both his small hands moved to rest on Pitch's cheeks. They stroked him like he was the most precious thing in the world, the fingers spreading so Sandy could explore the bone structure so different from his own. Then, they slid back to rake through his hair, fingers dragging along his scalp.

When he leaned back, Pitch could taste something like candy on his lower lip. "Thank you," Sandy murmured as he drew away to sit back in the middle of his bed.

"You're welcome." The Fearling licked his lips quickly. "Would you like anything? A bath, a drink of water? I can stay here too, guarding you if you so desire." He glanced around, only really noting how barren to room was. Gypsies tended to sleep close to their own, whether it was a spouse or lover, sibling or parent. Pitch believed that a bedroom should be warm, homely, not like a warehouse with abandoned goods catching dust in the corner. Nightmares had the easiest time slipping in and poisoning the mind at a place like this!

Sandy hesitated, drawing his good leg up to his chest and sliding his hand back through his hair. Meekly, he gestured toward the mattress. "I could light a fire so you can read."

His cheeks were flushed, and the lad refused to look up into his eyes. "If you don't mind to stay."

"Not at all." There was a small smile, mostly lost in the darkness but evident in the tone of the velvet voice. "I can take care of myself - make sure you'll be fine as well. I won't get any nightmares."

"I'm glad you don't get them." The bed creaked as Sandy squirmed across, then carefully set himself down one foot at a time. He was getting around quite well, Pitch noted; soon, he'd probably be able to have his cast removed. "I wish they would go away. I barely sleep anymore as it is."

Lord Sanderson lit a match, then bent over to toss it into the fire pit. The light revealed how morose he'd become, skin missing its ethereal glow, circles dark like bruises under his eyes. It was a sad sight indeed. "A few of his-- I mean," Sandy paused to scoop up a box. "I have a few books I haven't sent away yet. You're welcome to them."

He set the box down near Pitch, then went 'round to squirm back on the bed.

Pitch reached under his tunic and drew his necklace forth with two pendants. One was Saint Nyx's symbol, the two hands covering a blank face; the other a one and a half inch wooden ring with an odd woven net filling it. A short silk tassel hung from it and the threads of the net held small beads. The Fearling stretched out and hooked the necklace into a nail above the bed that surely used to hold a painting. "There. These will protect you as well."

He took the box then pulled a book from it. "Are you planning on selling the house?" he inquired softly, not even looking up; he was leafing through the white pages.

The little golden man settled down under his blankets before he responded. "I always said I'd spend the rest of my life here." His voice sounded wistful. "I will change rooms, more likely. When I die, I'll leave the house to someone who could use it."

"I really hope you're not in a rush about that."

He received no soft laughter in reply. Instead, the blankets just slid over Sandy's skin, as he rearranged himself to lay on his side, facing away from Pitch. The fire crackled once, spreading out a warm, cheery glow that returned some life to the bare chamber. "I hope you like the books. It makes me happy that someone is using them."

"I'm sure he's happy too," Pitch nodded. "Your beloved I mean. He must have been an exceptional person and I can see that you loved him above all."

The little shoulders tensed. "He was a good man." His voice sounded heavy, like there was a great deal of pressure on his chest. "I was so lucky to know him. We were going to--"

Sandy paused and drew in a ragged breath. "He made me feel so alive with just a touch or a kiss, and when we.." The sheets tightened, Sandy's soft body pressing down into the mattress. "..when we made love, it was the closest to heaven anyone living can ever reach. I'm just a corpse now, Mr. Black. I don't know how I can ever be the man I was."

There was silence stretching out with small noises only, rustling, things brushing against the floor; then the bed creaked softly as a weight settled down behind Sandy. Pitch began to lightly caress the small shoulders.

"Some say we're tied to others by a thin red thread; and two tied people are soulmates. You might have found yours and losing him... I can't even dream of comprehending the depths of your suffering. I can't even say for sure if you'll fully heal. But don't be selfish. Don't think of yourself only when you decide to kill yourself. If you were indeed soulmates, you are bound to meet again. Rushing that meeting seems to be tempting, I know... But please don't. The saints won't look at you kindly if you do that, and think of how sad your beloved would be to see you go before your time."

Beneath his hands, Sandy quivered as if he was sobbing, but a glance over the blankets proved that his eyes and cheeks were completely dry. Whatever pain he felt was buried deep inside, killing his little heart and gnawing at his soul. "He would be disappointed," the gent concluded, lips barely moving.

He squirmed in Pitch's arms, until the both of them faced each other. His sweet brown eyes looked so cold, defeated, that he couldn't help but wonder if Sandy was really alive at all. "Would he be angry with me now?"

"I don't think those who love us are ever truly angry with us." Pitch caressed the plump cheek with his thumb, combing the golden hair with his long fingers. "They are more likely to be sad, worried and disappointed. He might be pleading to the Saints to send you help. A sign, a flicker of light."

"Maybe--" The lad's mouth quivered. Sandy slipped both his hands around Pitch's wrist and squeezed, nuzzling into his palm. "Maybe it is supposed to be you."

Pitch wasn't used to being touched by non-Fearlings, as his kind were treated like a pestilence more than a people. But Sandy was fearless. He placed his hands on Pitch's cheeks again, his short fingers spread wide to roam over pale skin and into dark hair. His portly little body pressed close, breaching any semblance of boundary set by race or belief. "Your eyes are like stars. Like light."

Pitch blinked. He honestly didn't think of himself as a savior. He'd have refused a role like that for most, save his own, or a child... But Sanderson was kind, he didn't judge him just because he was a gypsy and he was in so much pain it was hard to watch.

Pitch curled an arm around the pilot. "I'd gladly help," he said quietly. "But the Saints forgot to tell me what to do."

Sandy dropped his hands to the front of his nightshirt, then deftly untied the laces to bare his soft, golden skin. His delicate mouth pressed to the underside of Pitch's throat, as he took one long-fingered hand and pressed it to his naked chest. His flesh was almost feverishly hot. "My heart aches--can you even feel it beating?"

Sandy's lips moved up over his chin, his jaw, 'til they rested just beneath Pitch's earlobe. "Can you make me feel alive again?"

The intention was hard to miss. It felt a bit odd though not entirely out of place.

"I might," Pitch murmured, fingertips ghosting over collarbones, "but I don't want to hurt you further. I don't want to see you cry because of me. Promise me that you won't regret this, and I'll do everything I can."

Sandy's chest trembled under his touch; his breath hitched too, but Pitch wasn't sure why. "I promise, Mr. Black."

And that was all it took. Sandy was upon him like a starving wolf, hands painful in his hair and mouth demanding, roughly pulling kiss after kiss from Pitch's stunned mouth.

The need was real, and the Fearling had no reason to doubt the promise. He kissed back just as deeply, tongue entwining with the smaller, sweeter one, teeth worrying over lips that tasted like candy. Using his height as advantage, he gently pushed Sandy back on the bed, to spare the injured leg from strain. His fine hands roamed, touching, kneading and caressing; eventually he seized the nightshirt and tugged it up, to bare the golden body.

He sat up to fling his own tunic over his head and toss it to the side, revealing a lithe, sinewy frame covered in dark ash skin as smooth as marble. Pitch paused, a little curious about the pilot's body - it was so different from what he was used to.

He was a chubby thing, his soft chest heaving where he laid on his back with his hands resting over a round belly. All of him was pudgy, from his tiny fingers to the tips of his small toes; Sandy's shape was surprisingly effeminate, too. He had hips and thighs Pitch was used to seeing on a healthy woman, and even his chest was rather.. familiar. Pitch eyed his penis a bit curiously. It was short, wrapped in soft golden skin and standing up as high as it could between his thighs.

"You're lovely," Sanderson cooed, seemingly unconcerned with the obvious differences between them. His little fingers roamed over his own chest, kneading the tiny bumps that could almost be called breasts.

Pitch licked his lips. He wasn't picky as far as partners went; he had the gift to appreciate many kinds of beauty. Despite all the soft roundness, Sandy looked surprisingly healthy and fit. Pitch ran his hand up on the supple thigh and shivered with delight. "And you're sweet and soft," he nodded in appreciation. The golden skin was perfectly smooth and silky. He couldn't wait to put his hands all over it. Bending down, the seized the intact leg at the knee and began to kiss the thighs, sucking on that flawless skin lightly, careful not to leave marks. It tasted like milk with a hint of vanilla.

He was rewarded with soft giggles from above. When Pitch kissed a patch of skin just behind the knee, Sandy's leg kicked forward sharply. "It tickles...!"

He glanced up, seeing that the sweet little hands rubbing carefully up and down his small penis. The tip was leaking already, dribbling precum down the short shaft. "Your lips feel wonderful, Mr. Black."

Pitch smiled and continued to perform his magic. His mouth wandered up and down over the fragrant, tight skin, appreciating the round belly and the plump chest as well. He swirled his tongue around a caramel nipple, sucking lightly while kneading the other.

"Tell me how you like it," he murmured , dropping kisses over the aching little heart. "I want to make your body sing."

Sandy's hand slid through his hair, keeping the dark strands out of his face; he didn't need to look up to know that he was being watched. The little lad was turning out to be some sort of fiend! He was pressing up into Pitch's stomach, hard and needy while raking blunt nails down the back of his neck. "I like being kissed and touched--rm, you don't have to be gentle."

Pitch did look up then, expecting to find bashfulness or shame in that face. Instead, he was met with dark eyes and a crooked grin, so very out of place for such an innocent-looking lad. "Make me forget everything."

Then he felt pressure on his own groin. The rascal had stretched out his intact leg so he could rub the sole of his foot over Pitch's manhood. "Then let me taste you too."

"Trust me, after I made you forget everything, you wouldn't want to taste me," Pitch countered with a chuckle. That little foot felt better than it should have. "Though, as barren as your room is, I doubt you have oil or salve at hand." He bit a nipple and squeezed harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "I can do rough though."

Any concerns he had for Sandy's well-being fled when he heard a breathy sigh for -more-. This delicate little gentleman, so proper and refined, was enjoying being treated like a decadent dessert in the hands of a greedy child. He didn't balk. In fact, he arched into Pitch's mouth and pulled his hair hard enough to hurt. And there was that foot, nimbly pinning Pitch's cock against his thigh so he could rub firmly with fat toes and all. "You underestimate my appetites," Sandy murmured, "I expect to satisfy myself with everything-" His little heel pushed up and over the head of the Fearling's penis, placing emphasis where words would've sufficed. "-you have to give."

The wicked limb was caught by a dak hand in the next moment and Pitch's teeth sank into the skin and he sucked, pulling the blood to the surface. "You'll be sore,” he offered as a final warning before attacking the pilot again. He kissed, licked and bit down again and again, his fingers twisted the nipples. And when he claimed the small plush lips, he wasn't afraid of pulling on the golden hair. He kissed with bruising force, plunging his tongue deep into Sandy's mouth like young, passionate lovers do when desire overwhelms them. Then, he leaned on the short neck and sank his teeth into it. Fearling gypsies were not Vampires, they never drew blood, but the thrill heightened the sensations.

He could feel Sandy's soft cries through his neck, vibrating beneath his teeth and sending pleasure straight down the base of Pitch's spine. The abused skin turned to a pretty shade of rose, reacting to the bites as eagerly as the lad himself. Sandy was grinding against him, smearing sticky-sweet precum all over the flat planes of Pitch's stomach.

"Mr. Black, please..." Sandy seized his hand and jerked hard. His soft tongue lewdly traced the pads of each finger, dragging down to the knuckles, then back up in a suggestive, sinful display. His lips finally settled around the tip of Pitch's middle finger; their eyes locked as tight pressure suddenly snapped down on the digit, pudgy cheeks hollowing as Sandy sucked it all the way into his wicked mouth.

The Fearling's golden eyes closed briefly as a sliver of pain flickered in his lower belly; the lad was indeed a little fiend. Pitch almost dared to imagine those lovemakings he had with his beloved.

"Turn around," he said, voice hoarse from lust. This was not going to be as good as it could be, but he wasn't about to complain.

Sandy chuckled, actually chuckled, as he sat back on the mattress. The movement drew Pitch's finger back out of his mouth, where it was chased by his short little tongue in quick, lascivious strokes. After planting a kiss to his palm, Sandy rolled over onto his belly. It took a moment thanks to the cast, but when he finally managed, Pitch was presented with a lovely view. His ass was girlish and round, quivering as he shifted his knees apart a bit. "Like this?"

The lad peeked over his shoulder with nary a shred of shame.

Pitch launched at him like a hungry wolf, not entirely different form Sandy's initial approach. Soon the round shoulders, the smooth back and even the fleshy buttocks were covered in bite marks. Pitch kneeled up to finally wiggle out of his pants then he sat back on his heels, his erection standing proudly between his things. He licked his thumb, coating it with a generous amount of saliva then slapped the tempting bottom and spread the cheeks apart, pushing his finger in.

"Ehn!" He buried his face in one pillow, golden hair sticking up wildly as he grabbed the sheets tightly in his left hand. The little wretch was rocking into the bed, every bite making his hips jerk and twitch until he had a nicely-sized wet spot underneath his cock. "You're really big," Sandy hiccuped, though it was with his free hand on one cheek, pulling it apart so Pitch could see, "You won't fit."

The warning sobered him up a little and Pitch took a deep breath. No, he probably won't fit, and it would hurt both of them to try. But thankfully, it wasn't the only way. "You're right," he admitted, but with a wicked smile. "However, my fingers are rather thin." Adding another dose of saliva, he pushed his middle finger inside, stroking the tight channel slowly. "Say... how many times can you come?"

The greedy little hole sucked him right in, fleshy buttocks wrapping around him as Sandy backed up into the intrusive touch. He certainly was eager! "Until I faint away," he moaned in reply, finally dropping his other hand so they both could clutch the blankets, "By the stars, you're reaching so deep!"

His hips rocked up, small cock still shivering between his fat thighs. "I wish I could take you now! You could ravage me even more deeply!"

"Maybe next time," Pitch promised easily. He wouldn't have minded a few more romps with his eager little employer. His finger slid in and out never quite leaving; He was sure he'll find that wonderful spot inside that made every man see stars from pleasure. He couldn't resist touching the fat testicles; he massaged them carefully, curious if he could make Sandy come just like this.

Both sets of toes curled as Sandy pushed up into Pitch's hand. For as portly as he was, he had surprisingly good control of his body. Pitch barely had to move his fingers at all, for Sandy impaled himself on them with obvious intent. "Pl-please.. We can't let it go to waste..!"

The warm little body shuddered when he managed to rub both sensitive spots simultaneously. Pitch got quite a show from where he sat, able to see Sandy's testicles tighten against his body and his cock twitch atop one ashen wrist. Just a few small taps against his prostate, and drops of pearlescent semen dribbled down from the tip of his cock in fat, lazy drops. "Please, Mr. Black, please let me have it..!"

"Let you have what?" Pitch teased, delighted and pleased by the result. "I'd give you anything I can, you only need to ask."

His hips trembled even more violently, small cock rising to attention again. It was strange to see a man with such a fast recovery rate, but it suited the selfish creature just as well. "Your prick..!" Sandy finally managed, sliding a hand down to pump himself. "I want to taste it, please..!"

There was no point in denying it. The Fearling crawled across the bed, to face Sandy, silently offering him help if he needed any to move. He had no doubts that this was going to be the best blowjob of his life. His dark cock trembled with anticipation. "It's all yours tonight."

He expected to be greeted with the same starving enthusiasm as before, with Sandy's wicked mouth finding what it wanted without hesitation. But there was a still before the storm where the gent turned to sit on his luscious bottom and carefully smoothed back the skin from Pitch's shining head. Eyes sliding shut, Sandy pressed it to his cheek.

Back and forth, back and forth, he nuzzled the hefty organ; the fluid oozing from his slit left streaks all across that cherubic face, but Sandy didn't seem to mind. He paid it the sort of attention a heretic offered to a cursed idol, worshiping every bit of flesh with innocent kisses. When at last he opened his mouth, Pitch caught sight of saliva rolling down the corner of his lips. But still, the bastard would not do as he promised! Instead, he sucked one of Pitch's testicles into his mouth, flogging it with his hot tongue while letting the hardened cock rest against his temple with only the barest of strokes to tide Pitch over.

The fearling groaned and steadied himself against the wall with a hand, widening his knees for a more stable stance. His free hand occupied itself with tangling into golden hair, so soft and silky as a kitten's fur.

Pitch breathed with his mouth hanging open, blazing golden eyes closed halfway and every stroke of that devilish tongue sent a shiver up his spine. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if Sandy lost his beloved to a heart attack in the midst of lovemaking. The teasing was wonderful but not enough; so he just waited and gasped, faintly aching down there.

The nuzzling came again, smooth cheek over his prized jewels, until he finally kissed his way up to the tip of his prick. He pressed his tongue flat to the velvety head and subjected it to slow, agonizing laps, taking his sweet time in taking Pitch apart. Sandy was skilled, to say the least; so much that Pitch barely registered the small hands sneaking to his rump until the fingers sank into his skin.

The next thing he knew, there was wet heat all around his manhood; his balls rested on the gentleman's round chin, Sandy's nose buried in his pubic hair, and the head of his cock crammed far, far back in a demanding mouth. Those sweet hands guided him to thrust, providing no resistance as the length slid out along his tongue, then back through thick saliva and into his throat.

"Saint Nyx preserve me...!" Pitch pleaded and rolled his hips. There was no gagging, no choking, just the tight wetness engulfing him entirely. The Fearling looked down and his heart jumped from the sinful sight. His trembling hands cupped the round face and he began to thrust, slowly first, but speeding up, practically fucking that eager mouth. Usually he lasted long, but this little fiend had worn him down already. He was not going to hold on for much longer like this.

Those big brown eyes were on him, wet with the strain of taking such a big organ deep into his mouth. But Sandy didn't let up for a moment. He kept his jaw relaxed so Pitch's girth could slide in and out unobstructed, all the while managing to keep his teeth from scraping that delicate skin.

A fingertip dragged down the crack of Pitch's ass, then gently swirled around his opening. It never prodded inside, merely stroking him with the same sinful worship as the mouth and tongue that worked him over. Sandy whimpered around his mouthful and pulled Pitch in with both hands. He suddenly began swallowing, making his throat constrict around the weeping cock.

That was the last drop. Pitch's testicles constricted almost painfully, he rammed his flesh as far into Sandy's mouth as he was able and kept him there as he came with a strained grunt, teeth tearing into his lower lip to keep himself from howling like an amorous beast. Wave after powerful wave, his seed flooded the lad's throat without being tasted. Pitch was trembling and moaning softly; the orgasm left him a little light-headed though it was fading fast. His fingers massaged Sandy's scalp and for some reason, he didn't dare to move. He'll be released soon anyway; he suspected the demanding little fiend had other plans.

Sandy finally began to cough, making his oversensitive flesh vibrate almost painfully. When he was finally released, it was with that same greedy suction that nearly made his knees buckle. Pitch's cock was sucked dry, not a drop of saliva or come remaining on his flesh. "So big..." He eased himself onto his hands and proceeded to gently suck at each testicle again. "I could barely swallow."

The lad's eyes drifted shut, little fingers dancing over the flagging length. He was nuzzling and kissing, tenderly flicking his tongue out to map out the veins.

"H-hey," Pitch flinched and gently pushed the pilot away; he was oversensitive after such a mind-blowing orgasm and the gentle licks almost hurt. "Give me a minute or two... By the stars, you're a dangerous little thing." He smiled and sank down on the bed to kiss Sandy.

"That was amazing, I'd have never thought you to be so talented! Are you alright though? And pray tell me, what is your next plan?"

Sandy flicked his tongue over the corner of his mouth, looking as pleased as the cat that got the canary. His little cock was still quite hard, but he ignored it in favor of giving Pitch a long, tempting stare. "I'm not very big, so you'd be able to use your mouth too." He detected a bit of self-consciousness in Sandy's tone, but it was still alluring nonetheless. "Your lips are so soft.. They'd feel so nice, wouldn't they?"

He spread his thighs and took himself in both hands, stroking with brown eyes downcast and swollen lips bitten, beautifully flushed. "I'm so randy I'm considering trying to take you inside no matter the strain."

"I'll stay until your flowers are in full bloom," Pitch reminded him smoothing his hands over the smaller ones and lifting them to kiss the knuckles. "You can find something to make it easier. Carelessness only leads to nasty burns." With a chuckle, he pushed at Sandy, easing him back against the pillows. "Let me do this for you."

That wild abandon in his eyes faded with just a soft kiss. Sandy gazed at him, openly shivering as he sank back into the pillows. Had Pitch not known better, he might've considered him angelic then. "The gods sent you to heal me," he murmured, voice taking on its melancholy tone once more, "And you do it so well, Mr. Black."

"Pitch." While he loved to hear the respectful term, it didn't suit the situation anymore. The Fearling shifted into a comfortable position and curled his fingers around the short penis. "You let me call you Sandy, it's high time you call me by my name." His tongue darted out, flicking against the wet tip. "Especially if I'm really your guardian." The small erection slowly disappeared in his mouth. It fit inside quite well.

"Pi-iitch...!" Sandy sighed out in delight, a tiny smile tipping up his lips. His taste was strangely sweet, yet still thick on Pitch's tongue. For such a little man, he had quite a bit of foreskin, too--and he was surprisingly thick!

He peered up, watching as Sandy kneaded at his chest again. Just like a girl.

One hand was enough to handle him though, so Pitch offered the other; he quite liked the feminine chest and Sandy might have wanted something to hold on to. The Fearling peeled the skin back and ran his tongue over the head before starting to suck. He massaged the underside, tracing the thick vein there.

It was a mistake, for as soon as his hand was in Sandy's, his fingers were sucked right back into that horrible, horrible little mouth. The gentleman's tongue squirmed through the digits, making love to each one with the same ferocity as earlier. The abuse lasted for only a moment, for Sandy pried the hand from his face and rubbed the slick digits over his nipples.

Pitch didn't mind it all that much though. The tongue against his fingertips felt oddly exciting and he wanted to give attention to that bust anyway. It's not that he was able to either protest or encourage, as his mouth was deliciously full. Pitch's eyes fluttered shut to concentrate on the task better, and he performed to the best of his abilities.

The rotund hips under his mouth trembled, tensing with the sort of need Pitch understood all too well. Sandy sang out for him, lips parted as he let out a sad little cry--then he came, a small mouthful of his sweet semen filling Pitch's mouth. "Yes.. Pitch, yes.."

The Fearling swallowed it, wondering about the taste briefly; but he released the softening flesh from his mouth, making sure no semen and much excess saliva clung to it. He moved to stretch out next to the pilot, throwing an arm over the thick waist.

"How do you feel now, Star Sailor?"

His pupils were blown, eyelids drooping as Sandy rolled onto his side. He snuggled tight, radiating warmth and relief, still trembling in the afterglow. "Amazing.. I saw heaven again.."

Suddenly, Pitch's throat tightened, though it wasn't entirely from unease. He was proud to make this lovely gentleman happy but on the other hand... he hoped Sandy won't read too much into it. He decided to save it for the next day though. He kissed the smooth forehead, tasting a faint salty aroma on it. "How about a rest then? You should have a good sleep that'd help you heal more. You've accomplished enough for tonight."

Sandy was fading fast. He nodded sleepily and closed his eyes, head tipping so he could press his face to Pitch's shoulder. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks, making tracks across the sweat-slick skin.

The gypsy held him gently, nuzzling and kissing his head as if he had been a child. Finally there were tears, the sorely needed remedy to mend a broken heart. Pitch drifted off into a sleep as well.

*

He woke early though, just before sunrise and after he carefully disentangled himself from Sandy's arms and draped the light cover over the pilot, he sneaked out to the garden, heart beating fast.

Under the early morning dew, with the first rays of dawn breaking yellow and gold through the swaying leaves, there was a tiny blossom among the thin stalks of deep green. A voidflower had opened to the sun, a sparkling beacon of hope in a dying garden.


	3. Chapter 3

After their encounter, the lad seemed to be in good spirits, so it was of little surprise to Pitch that his health improved along with everything else. When he woke one evening to find that his master was gone, Roberta managed to communicate through a series of grunts and gestures that their beloved Lord Sanderson had ventured to the city for his cast to finally be removed. He wasn't expected to return until the morrow.

Honestly, Pitch was happy to see him up and about. His cheer had a profound affect on the voidflowers, which swelled and thickened with each passing day. He was glad to see those soft smiles, too, as well as the laughter that rang through the wide halls like birdsong.

Just as Roberta predicted, Sandy returned late the next day with no cast and hardly a need to lean upon his cane. He accosted Pitch in the garden shed, all greedy hands and wet, degrading kisses that left him weak in the knees (and Sandy with a full stomach). It seemed that he was well on the path to recovery.

One humid evening, Pitch emerged from the manor to find the lord wandering along the repaired paths. There was barely a limp in his gait anymore, so when he beheld the strange, bow-legged stride, Pitch was concerned that something was wrong. "Sandy?"

The gent turned to him, dark eyes bright but eerily unreadable. There was a strange sort of smile across his golden face--he carried with him a sweet vanilla scent, and upon closer inspection, Pitch saw that his hair was damp. "I was searching for you," said the little Lord Sanderson, hands clasped behind his back, "I was hoping to enjoy your company this evening. Are you available?"

"If my master requests it then I am," Pitch replied with a bow though the grin that accompanied it was rather inappropriate to use when talking to somebody of higher standing. As much as he loathed the concept of serving another, Pitch now used the respectful title out of mischievousness. He grew to genuinely like the golden pilot so he didn't mind working for him - Sandy treated him more like a friend, anyway.

"When should I show up? Before dinner, after, at moonrise...?"

"Your master insists." Sandy tilted his head to the side, swiping his hand out to clasp Pitch's hand. His lips pressed to the knuckles of the gardener's hand, thumb stroking back and forth over his palm. "I'll provide dinner. Wear something comfortable."

"I see. I'll be there in time." It was quite obvious what Sandy wanted and Pitch's body began to tingle pleasantly. He didn't mind the advances; he only hoped he won't end up unintentionally breaking a barely-mended heart again. He also needed to clean up a little, dress... Dinnertime wasn't that far.

"I'm looking forward to it."

*

Just as he'd indicated during their first encounter, Sandy had switched his chambers to the opposite wing of the house. His new bedroom was a great deal smaller than the master suite, but still impressive enough to suit a proud young pilot. The doors were propped open, sheer curtains floating on the breeze; just beyond, chubby little Sanderson Mansnoozie was reclined across his bed. A tray of fruit lay before him, a green bottle chilling on ice, and beside his hip, a small, thick box wrapped in metallic paper. "You're right on time. Come sit."

Pitch walked closer and settled down on the bed. He only had an embroidered vest and a pair of loose pants on; he didn't even bother with shoes.

"I wouldn't miss a lavish dinner," he smiled, a bit curious about the bottle and the box. "Not to mention some fine company."

The gent sat up and held out his hand, which was draped in light, flowing silk. He wore a soft yellow robe over his shoulders, which was opened all the way down his chest. There were still a few marks left from their wild first night together, imprints over his little breasts. He pressed a kiss to Pitch's cheek, then leaned around him to take hold of the bottle. With nimble, chubby fingers, he uncorked it--it was something frothy and bubbly, almost turning crystal clear in a glass. "Have you ever tried champagne?"

"No, I haven't had the pleasure..." Pitch was surprised. He have heard of the fizzy alcohol of course, even seen a bottle or two, but he never had enough money - or the inclination - to buy some. Gypsies valued a good wine, cool beer or the sweet, potent spirits they could make from various fruits - fancy things only came to them if they stole it.

Pitch took the glass and carefully sniffed it; the scent was pleasant. He took a small sip and his eyes widened - this thing prickled his tongue! The taste wasn't bad, though. Very fancy and without a real strength, but it was nice. It certainly suited Sandy.

"It's interesting, and nice," he nodded. "I can understand why it's popular and expensive."

"I thought you would like it." That smile was there again, so strangely inviting. Sandy leaned forward and pursed out his lips, eyelids dropping 'til the lashes rested on his fat cheeks. Pitch just took a guess and tipped the glass, allowing his master to take a sip. When he leaned back, he took a bunch of grapes from the plate of fruit and placed one between Pitch's lips. "I chose these at market. They're very sweet."

They indeed were, huge, almost translucent green berries, succulent and firm; they cracked between Pitch's teeth, the juice flooding his mouth and the fragrance curling around him.

"You have a talent for fine food," he praised and he meant it. "And you're so generous, sharing these delicacies with me. Is there anything else you plan to dazzle me with?"

"You are so very perceptive." The little lord pressed a kiss to his throat, lips and teeth gently scraping across his jugular vein. He offered up another berry, then sat up on his knees. From Pitch's position, he could see that Sandy wore nothing underneath; when he shrugged off his robe, his penis was already partially hard, peeking out from between his chubby thighs.

"I have two more treats for you." Sandy crawled over on hands and knees, then pushed himself up into Pitch's lap. His body was deliciously warm, round belly sliding between the Fearling's arms. He hoisted up the box next and flipped the lid, showing off over a dozen small, lovingly-decorated chocolates lined up neatly inside. "Pick one."

Pitch couldn't hold back a delighted gasp. "Chocolate!" His golden eyes sparkling, he hesitated, devouring the treats with his gaze, then finally settled for an almost black oval adorned with a single coffee bean.

"I really appreciate the spoiling, but all this decadence surely cost a small fortune. You shouldn't have to do this for me." His mouth was watering from the thick, dark scent, so he bit into the bonbon. His eyes drifted shut from bliss as the sweet, spicy flavor spread on his tongue. "This is wonderful," he sighed, breath heavy with the aroma of dark chocolate and coffee filling. "Almost as sweet as you are."

That earned him a little chuckle. Sandy gazed up at him with a disarmingly innocent expression, seemingly delighted to be spoiling Pitch so. Sandy plucked up another chocolate, shearing the bottom away with his teeth, and as he rolled the treat around on his tongue, he dribbled a bit of cordial down Pitch's chest. It tickled, even moreso when the trail was carefully licked away by an eager little tongue. "I thought you deserved a treat." The lad paused, swirling his tongue around one of Pitch's dark nipples. "For all of your hard work."

"Thank you." Pitch nuzzled the top of the golden head, the scent of summer berries filling up his nose. "You are a wonderful person, the best employer I could have wished for. I came looking for money, but I also found a friend. I'll make sure to sing your praise wherever I go, so no Fearling would lay a finger on you or your belongings."

Sandy's face was pressed to his chest, wide nose and soft lips rubbing across the dark skin. His backside was swaying strangely, like he couldn't get anything below his waist to sit still. "There is a Fearling who is welcome to lay fingers on me anytime he wishes." One pudgy hand rested atop Pitch's groin. "Among other things."

Pitch's laughter was rich and heartfelt. He tipped Sandy's head up and kissed him. "That is a wish I'd cater to at any time. Where should I lay my fingers first?"

The little gent pressed closer, crushing his stomach and chest to Pitch's leaner frame. Pitch was treated to the strange texture of something slippery over Sandy's skin. It was slightly fragrant, too--some sort of oil, he surmised. "You know I like it anywhere," murmured Sandy, his wide, pert rear pressing its weight down atop Pitch's groin. He could swear he felt something non-organic pressing into his thigh, but he wasn't entirely sure. "I've made a few preparations, so we could enjoy our evening to its fullest."

Tiny fingers pushed the half-eaten chocolate into Pitch's mouth. As soon as he bit down, Sandy was upon him, tongue battling his for the taste of sweet confectionery. Greedy paws tugged at his clothes, while that soft weight rode him to the bed.

So much for dinner. Well, it was fairly early still, he could eat later, Pitch thought to himself. It's not that he didn't know this was going to happen. He let the vest slip off his shoulder then laid back willingly, curling his arms around Sandy. His hands busied themselves with mapping out every inch of that soft flesh and they kissed and kissed until they were both out of breath. Then they started anew.

Pitch eventually reached the round rear and squeezed the cheeks firmly. However, when he slipped a finger between them to tease the little fiend, he encountered something really odd. His eyes flew open and he frowned in confusion.

It was hard and round, and felt like polished wood underneath his fingertips. The skin around it was soft, despite the fact that it had clearly been stretched farther than nature intended. "Do you think me wicked?" Sandy's voice was sickeningly sweet, as his rump swayed with the strange tool inside. "It will still be a tight fit."

Pitch barely swallowed a cry when both nipples were pinched, small thumbs flicking cruelly over the tips. "If you let me take care of your big weapon, perhaps things will be easier on both of us."

"Please go ahead," Pitch held up both his hands. "You are wicked, but not the bad way." It was more on the alarming side, actually. Sandy looked so sweet and innocent, he was so kind all the time, it was hard to believe what a little beast he became in the bedroom.

Pitch's weapon was getting ready for battle anyway. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the use of that device, but he could see why it was beneficial.

His partner turned and stooped over in glee, baring his naked ass for Pitch to finally get a look at. Between the fat, supple cheeks, a dark plug was nestled. It was capped with a dark blue gem, completing the strangely beautiful artistry of this most disgraceful device.

Sandy returned to him with his chubby fist curled around a thin bottle. He didn't so much take off his trousers as rip at them, free hand like a claw that pulled the fabric from his hips in a series of demanding swipes. When at last Pitch was as naked as his employer, he was subjected to a frenzy of open-mouthed kisses; they were mostly concentrated to his stomach and hips, but one fluttered low to deliver a painful bite to the inside of his left thigh. As Sandy sucked the wound, he simultaneously upended the bottle to dribble a puddle full of fragrant oil onto Pitch's stomach.

Fearlings seldom got such a decadent treatment so Pitch just relaxed and watched. He flinched at the bite but didn't cry out. He raised a brow at the deposition of oil but he knew he'll get an explanation very soon.

Sandy sat up after a moment, face glowing while he straddled Pitch's thighs. Warm hands spread that oil all over his abdomen, then up high, over his chest. The lithe muscles were kneaded and rubbed with care, until the oil was absorbed into his skin. "Perfect."

With a soft giggle, Sandy slid a hand under Pitch's cock and pinned it to his stomach, leaving his testicles exposed to another dose of oil. Then he took them in slick hands, massaging the heavy globes until they started to swell in his hands.

"Hnnnhhh..." Pitch closed his eyes and arched his back from pleasure. His heart was beating faster, blood coursing hotter and he needed more air. His fingers spread and curled, finally fisting into the sheets and his thighs spread slowly to give more room to those talented little hands.

"You are making me mad..." he panted. "With desire." His jewels have never been subjected to a treatment like this, and Pitch found it quite pleasant.

The treatment he received was thorough, to say the very least; short fingers traced the hefty shape of his scrotum, back to his perineum to coat it in oil, too. Sandy didn't stop when the oil was absorbed, though, continuing to dump the bottle over on its side until his testicles were completely slick.

"I love how big you are. You're so thick, so long--I can barely wrap both my hands around you." His brown eyes were glazed in desire. With a delighted groan, he flipped the bottle of oil over completely, draining the thick liquid all over the tip of Pitch's cock. Like a selfish child with a new toy, he abandoned that bottle to grab Pitch between his palms and stroke, smearing the fragrant mess all down his length.

It was hard and quivering with need. Pitch was falling apart from the constant stimulation.

"If you keep that up, I won't be able to keep myself back..." he warned, voice strained. "It feels too good... Oh by the stars, I'm burning..."

He heard a sigh and the touching stopped. When Pitch cracked an eye, it was to the sight of his sweet little master pouting near sulkily, sitting up on his knees with a hand behind him. "Not yet--I have so much planned for us."

That golden face flushed. Pitch heard something sliding across skin, a wet sound that made his stomach flip. Sandy was shuddering but patient with himself as he pulled out his little toy. "Hh--" The lad whimpered and finally held it aloft, where it dripped with oil and gleamed under the lights. The thing was thicker than Pitch had anticipated, about half as long as the twitching cock between his thighs. "Oh, yes.."

It didn't detour Lord Sanderson for a moment. He took to Pitch's cock like a rampant whore, chubby thighs spread and one hand braced on the Fearling's thigh. For all his stretching and preparation, the head alone still strained against his hole. He watched that little face tense in concentration, as Sandy slowly eased the both of them together, forcing the massive glans inside.

It was even more maddening, the pressure, that tight ring of muscle around him - tight despite all the preparation. But he was slowly eased inside and Pitch held his breath. He had no doubts that his entire length will disappear and Sandy will sit against the gray thighs with a divine smile as if there would be nothing crammed up into his backside. He was shameless about sex but he lacked that animalistic hunger that accompanied an addiction. He simply embraced the need and enjoyed himself if his partner was willing. And, he cared for said partner, too.

Pitch placed his hands on the round shoulders to reassure and encourage. He slid them down then, to knead the almost-breasts.

He finally seated himself with his thighs spread wide, his little cock twitching in delight. "By the stars, it feels like you're in my stomach..!"

Sandy arched into Pitch's hands wantonly, disturbing the cock crammed inside of him when he shifted. His channel was slick about halfway--the rest depended on Pitch, so he found his head constricted tightly, almost painfully. And that was before he even began to move.

With both palms pressed to Pitch's thighs, Sandy took him with ease, a smile of fiendish pleasure etched into his round face. Through the strain of contending with his hefty member, he still managed sweet, encouraging little sounds; it was hypnotic to watch, the thick body sliding up 'til Pitch was barely inside, then sinking back in one smooth thrust.

“Saint Nyx have mercy...” the Fearling moaned, gleaming gold eyes practically blazing. If it was a sin to enjoy the sight of his lovers taking him fully, he was willing to burn for it. Since Sandy was doing all the work, he couldn’t do anything but watch and give some loving attention to all the soft flesh underneath his hands.

There was one little thing nagging at the back of his mind though; he would have greatly liked to switch, to have that greedy little thing underneath him squealing and spasming from pleasure as he pounded into him. Although he didn’t think Sandy would be against it, Pitch was willing to wait, at least until he accustomed to the size.

It was a stroke to his pride that Sandy took a while to get used to him, face tense as his tiny hole strained to swallow him up. The tight ring of muscle around the gent's entrance refused to relax for a moment, making for an agonizingly pleasurable sensation each time he slid back inside. Ah, but that didn't stop the gleeful twinkle in his eye! Pitch knew when he was being used, and if that smirk at the corner of his mouth was any indication, Sandy was using his cock like it was a brand new toy.

His legs spread wide, Sandy's fat hips began to bounce with abandon, making his chubby balls and thighs shiver with the movement. He was wild, absolutely wild, letting out delighted sighs only when Pitch was completely buried inside of him. And he smiled--the bastard smiled!--as he hungrily swallowed every inch with the skillful movements of golden skin.

Pitch concentrated on breathing for a while, and tried to calm his blood; he didn’t want to spoil this. He captured the merrily bouncing little penis in his hand and fondled it gently, to help drown out the pain, if there was any.

“When you get tired, just tell me,” he mentioned. “I’d gladly take over... Seeing you riding me is breathtaking but I’d also love to pleasure you...” His eyes flashed with lust. “By pinning you down and plowing into you, as deep as I can go, until you can taste me on the back of your tongue.”

It certainly seemed to catch his interest. The self-pleasuring little movements slowed, Sandy's head tilting to the side while he pondered this offer. In the meantime, Pitch was treated to the sight of his body crammed inside a tight hole; the small ring was already flushed, strained to the absolute limit, but Sandy was still greedy for more.

How much more, Pitch didn't fully understand until the gent stood up, breaking their union with a pleased grimace. He turned, dropped to his knees, and pushed forward onto his fat chest, ass exposed high in the air and facing the Fearling shamelessly. "You'll break me," Sandy challenged, spreading his pudgy cheeks and plugging up his gaping hole with three fingers. With a grin, eyes glinting in mischief, Sandy thrusted his fingers in as far as they could go. 

“Isn’t that what you want me to do?” Pitch countered and he playfully swatted away the tiny hands to replace them with his own. The plump rear was a delight to touch, both surprisingly firm and soft beneath his palms. “You have the most luscious ass I have ever seen,” Pitch murmured and pushed two of his fingers into the greedy hole. He began to search for the sweet spot. He remembered Sandy’s proud claims about his stamina quite well.

The slick channel didn’t offer much resistance while he explored and amused himself with kneading and occasionally slapping the lovely backside.

The little wretch didn't even try to quiet himself this time, his pleas for more completely unobscured by a pillow or blanket. Pitch pushed down as Sandy's hips rolled up, and all at once, he was given view of a hands-free orgasm. Sandy continued holding his ass open with both hands, the blunt nails digging into the cheeks as his cock twitched once, then dirtied the sheets below with a fair amount of thick seed.

While he gasped for breath, blessing Pitch between his whorish grunts and sweet moans, his small cock stayed hard as a rock. "So good..! It feels so good, Mr. Black!"

"Fearling magic," Pitch shrugged with a grin, feeling oddly lightheaded. What an adorable fiend the pilot was! Just watching his carefree wantonness could make anybody tingle.

"Would you like more of my fingers before I get inside?" the Fearling inquired, sort of curious just how many orgasms his employer was capable of. Two for sure, But he could probably easily manage three...

"I don't want to wait anymore," Sandy sighed, reaching back to grab Pitch's wrist. With surprising strength, he pulled that long arm forward until the long fingers were within reach of his lips. He sucked two down, tongue sliding lazily back and forth between his fingers and up over the tips.

He said something around his treat, "give it to me", perhaps, and crept back until his fat, luscious little ass was pressed against the underside of his member. Hips rolling, he wagged his bottom back and forth.

"I'm not complaining," Pitch noted absent-mindedly and in the spur of the moment, he rubbed himself against the still-slick entrance. He almost wanted to grab the fat cheeks, press them together and use them like that, but the master's wish was his command. With a little fumbling, he guided himself into the warm body and grabbed the thick hips firmly. He took a deep breath, drew his penis out more than halfway - and rammed back, impaling the pilot with a small growl. It felt wonderful, but he didn't stop to enjoy just being inside; he speared Sandy again and again, trying to bury his dark cock into the inviting heat as far as possible.

He was so very small that Pitch didn't have anywhere to go but deeper. His entire body seemed made just for Pitch to use, a tight, tiny little toy that swallowed him up with enthusiasm. And it made sounds too.

Every stab tore a grunt from the little pilot; the sounds were akin to pain, but if he tried to ease up, Sandy just backed into him hard enough to frighten him. "Yessss, please! Just like that!" Fat arms wound around one of Pitch's, Sandy's forehead resting against the limb as he was pummeled.

Despite his better judgement, there was no need to hold back. Pitch's golden eyes almost glowed as he fisted into the fine honey hair and slammed against Sandy forcefully. He was panting but through gritted teeth, his hissing like a spiteful large cat's.

He might have called the pilot a lovely slut, or might have just wanted to - thinking became a chore quite fast as pleasure filled him up like water fills up a bottle. The peak was nearing, but Pitch tried to delay it with all his might; truth to be told he wasn't sure he could keep going after an orgasm to give Sandy one as well, if he finished first.

He didn't have to think about it much longer, for there was a sudden clenching tightness around him that he nearly forgot how to breathe. The little gentleman was wailing like a cat in heat, his muscles shuddering under soft golden skin. But Sandy wouldn't stop moving, pushing back, raking nails down his arms, arching, and--"Fill me up, pleasepleaseplease!"

Sandy was agonizingly tight and demanding, relentless. "I want it all inside, -please- fill me up, -please-!"

It came without a warning, the rush that bleached the darkness to pure white; Pitch's back arched like a bow, ready to snap and with a desperate cry, he came, harder than ever. His hips moved on their own accord, diving deep still, filling the tight channel up with pearly white; and they continued to twitch until the last drop was spent.

The descent from the high was slow, and Pitch became dimly aware that he was still buried deep between fleshy cheeks, tired and pleasantly aching, cradling the hot little body tightly.

A sweet little mouth peppered kisses down his forearms, smearing sweat and saliva all over his skin. Vaguely, he became aware that Sandy was trembling around him again; the wretch had come a third time, dribbling semen in a wide puddle between his legs. "Th-thank you.. Oh, Pitch, that felt so good.."

"Yes." All he could do was agree. The Fearling pulled himself out painstakingly carefully, shuddering now and then as his oversensitive member was subjected to more pressure and stimulation. "Have you had enough?"

"Mm," Sandy replied intelligently, face-down on his dirtied bed and still spread open without a care. His dark eyes flicked to Pitch, though, settling on his gleaming cock with an obvious hunger.

He behaved, however. Though he licked his swollen lips and lurched as if he intended to pounce Pitch's manhood again, he settled instead for the pretty plug he'd worn earlier. With shaking hands, he pushed it back inside his ravaged opening. It was rough, the sharp movement angled just so he could induce within himself one more little orgasm.

Mesmerized by the decadent sight, Pitch took over, pushing Sandy down, offering him some fingers to suck on while handling the plug. "You are a vicious little thing. I can't understand how do you manage to still look so innocent."

His sounds of delight vibrated around Pitch's fingers. Despite his vicious reaming before, Sandy's body gripped the plug tightly each time he tried to pull it out. "I like how it feels," Sandy explained, pausing to drag his tongue along the Fearling's long palm, "Push it in for me, sir, and I'll feel nice and full for a little while longer."

The Fearling obeyed without a word, until the small body shuddered again, more semen gushing from his eager little cock. Pitch didn't pull out the plug though - he left it inside and curled his long body around Sandy's, holding the small hands down and finally claiming his lips in a slow kiss.

He was shaking like a leaf, the tremors continuing as they exchanged sweet, calming kisses. Gradually, the tight muscles underneath plush skin began to relax, loosening with lazy strokes of their tongues. Sandy's mouth still tasted like wine and chocolate.

He felt the last of his employer's desire fade when his kisses turned light, more lips than anything.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the flowers were in full bloom... Or actually withering again form overdose," Pitch mentioned with a grin. The kissing gave him time to recover somewhat, some of his strenght seeping back. "You are a marvelous creature, Star Sailor."

He was answered at first with one of those soft, quiet smiles. Sandy laid with his head upon one curled arm, his free hand stretched out to brush a few wilted black strands from Pitch's face. "If they are in full bloom, that means you will be leaving soon."

It was Pitch's turn to fall silent for a while. "I have to," he said simply. "A sick child awaits the cure. I planned on buying medicine, or a doctor's services, but you offered my so much more." He caressed the fat cheek with the pad of his thumb. "We belong to different worlds. I with my clan and you with your star-ship. We both wander, only returning from time to time."

Sandy's tiny palm brushed gently down the length of his forearm, a meaningless touch that somehow felt as intimate as a kiss. "The gardens look beautiful thanks to you. And you showed me that there is still much happiness left in life."

He paused and dropped his hand, studying the rumpled sheets. "You belong to the open fields and wild forests. It would be wrong to ask for your freedom." The lad's face shifted to sport a tiny smile. "I won't ask you to stay."

Pitch suddenly felt a weight lifting from his chest he hadn't realized was there until this. "Letting go is a good thing." he nodded. "It allows new things to enter into your life. Don't let the flowers wither, smile a lot and look for your own happiness. It'll find you." He smiled back. "I can't make promises, but I will never forget you."

He expected tears, or perhaps the return of that achingly haunted look that had caused the precious voidflowers to wither in the first place. But, it never came. There was sorrow in Sandy's dark eyes, true, but hope now resided there as well.

"Just promise that you will live a long and happy life," the little pilot murmured, sitting up to sit. His movements were a bit stiff, Pitch realized with a prideful tingle. "And know you're always welcome here."

"I will remember that," he nodded solemnly. "And I wish the same for you." He stretched a bit then glanced up. "Probably we could at least change the sheets? I'm not sure Roberta will be happy when she sees them-" He blinked. "Maybe it'd be better if I disappeared by sunrise. She could tear me in two!"

Sandy pushed himself to his feet with an impish giggle. "I'll need your help, since I can't dress the bed without climbing."

Tapping his finger to his chin, he turned to face Pitch. With the moonlight streaming in, he looked very much the picture of glorious sun, warm and inviting with a soft sheen to his golden skin. "If you will dress the bed, I will fetch your pay." Then meekly, he added: "But please-- don't leave until I am asleep."

"Of course not," Pitch bowed after he swiftly stood; then he began to tug the soiled covers from the bed. The mattress was probably soaked as well, and Roberta will say a few unflattering things, but Pitch already knew that sunrise indeed won't find him in the city. He'll rest a bit, see to a few things and then he'll be back on the road, rushing to meet his people.

When he finished making the bed, Sandy was just returning. He held a heavy bag in his hand, the promising sound of gold jingling merrily inside. He'd taken the time to dress in a robe and wash his face, so his skin glowed in health.

"Thank you," he said quietly, tying the bag off with a golden cord and laying it on his nightstand. He then produced a silk scarf. When he lifted the end of the fabric, Pitch could see the glittering petals of the voidflower underneath. "Is this one alright?"

"It's perfect." Pitch kneeled down and embraced Sandy. "You are the friend of Fearlings from now on. We do not trust easily, but your kind heart deserves recognition. May Saint Nyx shield you from harm and keep you in good health until the very end."

Small arms curled around his neck and held tight. "Please lay with me. Just one more time?"

Pitch rose and helped Sandy to get comfortable. Soon, the unlikely pair - the tall Fearling gypsy and the short comet cruiser pilot - were sleeping soundly, covered by a thin blanket and soothing darkness.

\---------------------------------------

Roberta grumbled of course, accusing Pitch with being cold-hearted, but Sandy knew better - on her own way, the Yeti was thankful for the positive change.

The pilot was planning on returning to his ship and looked over papers though he was definitely not in a hurry. He found some time every evening to sit by the voidflowers, admiring their beauty in the darkness.

He only opened the nightstand’s drawer several days later, and to his slight surprise, he found Pitch’s necklace with the two pendants in it, and a handwritten note.

_“I decided to lend you these, to ensure my hard work doesn’t go to waste. Keep them well; they’re very precious to me. I don’t want to see your flowers dying again either._

_Thank you for everything. It’s been a real pleasure to work for you. Sincerely, Pitch Black.”_

Sandy smiled, holding the note to his chest. While it definitely wasn’t a promise, hope shone from beneath the words; the light that kept people going amidst all the darkness, guiding them out of the night.

The fragrant breeze caressed the voidflowers in the garden and the blooms shuddered with delight.


End file.
